I'll Be Here

furniture, but now it seems silly that I kept it out in plain view.  I don’t know if I thought that he would call and tell me that he’d been playing some sort of twisted practical joke or if he’d show up outside of my window in the middle of the night with a boombox over his head shouting that he loves me.  Neither of those things has occurred.  He hasn’t even texted.
    The alarm clock sounds for a second time and Ferdinand, who occasionally sleeps in bed with me, opens his eyes lazily.  He yawns and unfurls from a ball shape.
    I roll my neck and listen to it crack.  I swirl a bit of spit in my mouth to get rid of that tangy morning taste.
    Today is inevitable.  It’s Tuesday and that means school. 
    Mom, dressed in a slim teal cotton top and black yoga pants (obviously going to fill in for an absent instructor) tells me I can stay home another day if I’d like.  I almost think she wants me to which, quite frankly, doesn’t seem like very good parenting.  Isn’t she supposed to be telling me to face up to my demons, not run and hide out in my bed under a blanket? 
    Jake, light-haired and graying at the edges, is sitting at the blue kitchen table in his unofficial workweek uniform of khakis and a collared short-sleeved shirt.  He’s got Aaron propped on his lap.  The three of them keep exchanging worried looks like it’s my first day off the psych ward and I might run naked down the street yowling profanities at the good people of the town.
    I say, “I’m fine.”
    Mom’s face puckers.  “Talk to us sweetie,” she pleads gently.  As if anything in my demeanor encourages an impromptu heart to heart here in the kitchen while the cereal in my bowl soaks up all the milk and goes to mush.
    “I’m fine,” I repeat the phrase, this time accentuating my words with an expressive shrug.  “I’d rather if we just dropped it.”
    “Maybe later?”  She looks hopeful.
    “Maybe.”  I take an over-large bite of cereal so that my mouth is too full for conversation. 
    She stares at me for a long time and I hang my head so that I don’t have to keep my features a mask of pretend happy.  With a resigned look, Mom turns back to the counter and continues to load food into Aaron’s lime green lunchbox.  “And you’re absolutely sure about school?” 
    I swallow and say, “absolutely.”
    “People would understand if you need a few days.  That would be alright Willow.” 
    “Not alright with me .”  My voice comes out sharper than I intended and mom looks hurt.  Jake’s eyes widen a fraction but he smothers the awkward moment by asking Aaron to explain why he doesn’t want to see his friend Jonathan at school.  Apparently they had an argument on the playground yesterday about who crossed the monkey bars the fastest.  Oh, to have the problems of a four year old!
    Mom’s face is carefully blank when she asks me if I want to pack a lunch or buy.
    “Umm.  I’ll just take a granola bar and get a soda at school or something.”
    She purses her lips to keep from making a comment about my poor nutritional choices and starts to go over the schedule.  This is part of the daily routine.  Jake has some major funding meeting that might run late so we’ll need to come up with something easy for dinner.  Jake is a marine biologist and he’s been working for six months to get funding for a conservation project that will focus on a mollusk that no one’s ever heard of but really should care about because it’s a member of an ecosystem that is delicately balanced and constantly under siege.  It’s grueling work. 
    “Don’t forget that I’m working this afternoon so I won’t be home until after six.”
    Mom looks at me like I’ve spouted two heads.  “You already worked Saturday so why don’t you ask for the day off?  I’m sure that Patty will understand under the circumstances.”
    “I’m not skipping out on work because of a break-up.  That’s too pathetic even for me.”
    Mom looks to Jake for support but he wisely keeps his face neutral.  “Willow…”
    “I’m fine.”
    “But—”
    I say it again slowly.  “I’m fiiiiiine.”
    She looks like she wants to fight me on this but she bites her bottom lip and continues to talk about the daily schedule and who is going to get Aaron from school.  Good.  It’s not like I’m an invalid.  And I am fine.  
    I’m starting to believe it myself.
    The feeling of okayness comes and goes on the way to school,